


Not a Single Scratch...

by TheLoneSurvivor



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Betrayal, Gen, Kinslaying, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 11:29:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5706031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLoneSurvivor/pseuds/TheLoneSurvivor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Milan and Gorim have found Trian dead, along with his party. While Bhelen would have them both executed for treason on the spot, there’s one piece of information that can’t possibly be ignored…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not a Single Scratch...

**Author's Note:**

> When this scene happened in the game, I knew something was off about the whole thing with one vital piece of information completely ignored which the Scout had said to your character.
> 
> I felt the need to write this after I finally broke free from the game. Hope you all enjoy.

The cave was mostly quiet. Only the scuffs of boots and the clinks of pebbles underfoot made much sound as the other group of dwarves approached. Voices could be heard overlapped by the echoes from the cave within the Deep Roads.

“Come on, before it’s too late!” Bhelen “the Betrayer” yelled as the squad of dwarves made their way into the large room; his new title generously provided by Milan.

They all stopped and looked to see Milan crouched over Trian’s dead, untouched body. His sword had been stabbed into the stone and he was leaning on the blade a little more than what was thought to be normal.

“Trian… brother… may you rest well with the Stone. You have been a good friend, despite popular belief.” Milan cleared his throat and shook his head sadly. “Goodbye brother, I only wish I could’ve said it sooner.”

Milan moved a metal covered hand over Trian’s face and closed his eyes and his open mouth. He got up from his crouch and looked to see the other dwarves who had entered the room. He looked over the face of each one and saw nothing but shock amongst the faces in front of them. Even Bhelen had a look of mocked shock, mouth slightly open to maxify the effect.

Endrin was the first one to speak. “Son, please do not tell me it’s what it looks like.”

Milan shook his head. “If you’re thinking I killed him, you’re looking at the wrong man.”

“Then who should we look at, traitor?” Bhelen asked impatiently.

Milan pointed to him. “Why, no other than yourself, Bhelen _Aeducan_.”

Bhelen’s eyes widened even further in “surprise”. “Me? How could I have done it? _You’re_ the one here, after all.”

The small party of dwarves, Bhelen and King Endrin included, walked over to Trian’s dead body. King Endrin sunk to his knees once close enough, laying a hand on his fallen son. Everyone else looked at Milan, while Gorim, Frandlin and the Commoner walked up from the other side of the cave.

“‘ _You’re brother is planning on murdering you,_ ’ should have told Trian about that one instead, _brother._ ” Milan mocked what Bhelen had said the day before. “He needed that information more than I did.”

Bhelen’s face adorned a deeper shade of red than before. “It would only give you more reasoning to kill him, if he was to kill you. And, since he’s dead, everyone’s pointing the blame at you.”

Lord Harrowmont, Gorim and King Endrin weren’t, but they didn’t speak.

“But I didn’t kill him. He was dead by the time I got here.” Milan said. “I’m not sure if you know who I am, but I don’t wish my enemies to the Stone once they’re dead.”

King Endrin stood up from being on his knees and spoke. “Milan, my son, do you have anyone else to back up your claims of not killing him?”

Gorim stood forward without needing to be asked in the slightest. “My Lord is innocent, your honour. Like he’s said, Trian was dead by the time we got here.”

Endrin nodded, frowning. “I’m sorry Gorim, but due to your unwavering loyalty, we can’t go off your word alone. You two,” he said, pointing to the Commoner and Frandlin, “will tell what happened.”

The scout stood forward at that. “I’ll gladly tell what happened.”

The group all made gestures to have him proceed.

“Ugh,” the scout said with disgust. “It was just awful. When we got here, Trian was here and then _he,_ ” he glared accusingly at Milan who rolled his eyes, “ordered us to attack. It was a bloodbath.”

Milan scowled and threw up his arms. “ That’s a lie and you know it! Can you really trust the word of some Commoner born to a whore from Dust Town?” Milan didn’t care if the words were true or false, as long as it angered the Commoner was all that mattered.

The Commoner gave an ice cold glare at Milan who couldn’t have cared in the slightest. King Edrin cast a single nod to the crowd. “True words, my son. We don’t know if the Commoner can be trusted at all. Frandlin, you’re trustworthy and honourable; what happened here?”

Frandlin looked between Bhelen and Milan, indecision hinted on his face.

“Make the right choice, Frandlin.” Milan said, crossing his arms and looking deeply into Frandlin’s eyes, seeing the two sides of his mind battle in all out war over who’s side he would tell.

Frandlin gave a small sigh and took in a deep breath. “What the Scout here said is the truth. When we made it into the room here, Trian and his party was here and the Aeducan ordered us to attack them. It was horrible.”

“Wrong decision, Frandlin.” Milan said so icily Frandlin shivered. “So, you all think I attacked him? That we swung blades and I killed him in combat, while you joined in on my orders?”

The Scout and Frandlin nodded without realizing their mistake. “Yes, that was what you commanded.” Frandlin said.

Milan smirked. “Then explain why Trian and his party don’t have any marks on their body. No signs to indicate combat. Not a single scratch to show any proof of your claims.”

Curious, the King and others leaned down to inspect Trian’s body. Like Milan had said, there were no marks. Not even any signs of him being choked. He showed absolutely no possible signs of any combat from the past hour, all blood on his armour having dried up and marks from the crude blades only the Darkspawn wielded, jagged lines visibly put into the suit by shear force. Milan, Frandlin nor the Commoner had weapons crude enough to create such dents.

Milan saw Bhelen give a look of enragement to the two people who had been too stupid to realize their mistake. Milan found it even more hilarious that the Commoner was the one who supplied him with the means of this, saying the words himself. _There isn’t a scratch on him. No signs of combat or anything, Lord Aeducan._ Milan repeated the line through his head as Trian’s body was inspected.

Finally, as the Commoner and Frandlin had all but sweated enough to fill a tankard each, Lord Endrin rose from his stooped position and looked at Milan. “My son speaks the truth,” He announced. “Trian has no marks to indicate any kind of combat told through the mouths of these two… liars.” He sighed and shook his head sadly. “See these two hauled off to the dungeons for lying to the King and his company.”

The guards moved without hesitation, grabbing the two dwarf’s weapons and throwing them to the ground and hauling them off by the arms. Three more soldiers left to make sure the two prisoners and the people carrying them weren’t ambushed and couldn’t defend themselves. A few pleads of mercy could be heard as they were dragged through the stoney cave tunnel. No one answered them.

Endrin turned to Bhelen and Milan, giving the former a look of disgust and the latter a look of gratitude. “With the two people who had told one version of the story found to be dishonest, I’m very inclined to believe Milan on this story.”

“W-what? How? He could’ve killed Trian another way, like with poison!” Bhelen attempted desperately to convince Endrin.

Endrin shook his head. “Everyone here knows Milan’s opinion on poison and frankly, we all agree with him. Except you, Bhelen.”

Bhelen gulped and looked around to find all gazes on him. Without thinking, he drew his blade and lunged towards Milan who sidestepped the attack far before it could hit home.

Milan drew his own blade and grabbed his helm from Gorim’s hands. “Fine then, Bhelen. If it’s a fight you want, then a fight you shall have. If anyone interferes, I’ll fight them too!”

Bhelen was quick to catch his footing before walking around Milan, his gaze never leaving the Provings champion. He had hoped that he could’ve killed Milan quickly and then make a strike for Endrin, but Milan was a warrior; a really good warrior. He perhaps rivalled Trian in skill and prowess on the battlefield, or maybe he was even better.

“Traitor!” Milan shouted, eyeing Bhelen intensely through his helmet. “You deserve nothing more than death. May the Stones reject your soul!”

Gorim watched on with interest, wishing he could help his Lord but he knew that Milan would win. He had to. Milan had proved himself to be the best warrior in the entire Proving tournament, which was an extremely impressive feat.

Milan did a move towards Bhelen that involved spinning twice, making sure that his shield smacked into Bhelen’s hand and weapon to disbalance him. “Sick spins, there Commander Aeducan,” one of the soldiers said. Gorim shrugged. _Must be some Commoner slang I haven’t heard before._

Bhelen caught his footing and stood up, shaking feeling back into his arm. He tried to see what Milan would do next, but his face was unmoving other than from exertion of swinging his blade or blocking with his shield. With Milan’s face never showing any hint of what he’d do next, it was near impossible to tell. After all, the most unexpected movements often won the battle.

Milan’s brow creased further. He was gauging Bhelen’s movements and what attack would be best. His shield was not on him, so it would be easier to send a number of blows to kill him, but for killing his brother, Milan wanted to see him suffer. Blood meant nothing to Milan at that point, betrayal and kinslaying was one of the worst things that could be done. _If kinslaying is so bad, how would I be any better than Bhelen if I was to kill him? He is my brother after all…_

A loose stone that jutted out in just the wrong spot sent Milan off balance, tumbling to the floor. Bhelen saw his chance and leapt forward to attack but meeting nothing other than the Aeducan shield Milan carried. He swung several times without even denting the large and protective shield. Milan grabbed the dagger at his side and stabbed it into Bhelen’s foot.

A loud howl of pain echoed off the walls as Bhelen ripped the dagger from his foot and threw it at his brother who was busy picking up his blade. The dagger bounced harmlessly off the huge shield though, landing in a nearby pile of rocks. They went back to circling one another, Milan moving his strained arm carrying the heavy shield and Bhelen limping to reduce further damage on his foot.

Gorim, meanwhile, went to go and pick up the dagger in case his Lord might need it once more.

Another mock attack came from Milan, causing Bhelen to raise his sword in a sideways block before realizing no weapon was heading his way. Bhelen decided to take a swing at the other Aeducan and managed to catch his blade at an unusual angle, sending Milan’s sword sailing. Milan cursed and swung his shield with all his might, sending Bhelen flying several feet back with his weapon going even farther.

Milan saw Gorim holding his dagger and measured the distance from his sword in the other direction and found that Gorim was closer. He dashed over to his companion and friend to retrieve his dagger and turned to face Bhelen after giving Gorim a nod of thanks.

Bhelen was up and had his weapon back in his hand by the time that Milan had gotten his dagger. They approached cautiously, neither one knowing if the other was to strike. It took a lot of bravado from Bhelen to attack Milan once more and it turned to be his downfall. Milan caught his attack with a small swing of his shield, causing Bhelen to follow his blade rather than meet the resistance he expected. Milan saw his chance and took it, stabbing his weapon deep into Bhelen’s right arm between the bones, ripping tendons and countless blood vessels apart.

Bhelen screamed in pain and released his blade from his hand as Milan gave a small twist to the wound, sending all new levels of pain shooting through Bhelen’s entire body. Milan removed the dagger that went completely through Bhelen’s arms and let his brother slump to the floor. Bhelen whimpered softly and nursed his arm as best he could.

Several thoughts ran through Milan’s head. _You could kill him right now, no more messing about. But, if you do, you’ll be just as much of a kinslayer as him; is that what you want?_ Milan shook his head to clear them and he looked down at his injured brother. “Do you yield?”

Another whimper from Bhelen echoed through the halls.

Milan extended his left arm so fast it was but a blur to all who watched. The metal covered hand went under Bhelen’s chin and jerked his head up to look him in the eyes. Bhelen grunted as the action sent more pain through his arm. “Do. You. Yield?” Milan asked once more, his voice cold enough to freeze the magma that ran through Orzammar.

Bhelen nodded swiftly and grunted again from his injury as the action caused it to move.

“Good,” Milan said. He wiped the blade clean with a small cloth he kept on his person and then sheathed the blade and grabbed his sword before giving it the same treatment as his dagger. “I was afraid I’d have to kill you, Bhelen.”

Bhelen didn’t respond.

“Alright then, he’s surrendered now. You may haul him off, same as that Commoner and the Ivo.” Milan called to the guards who carried out his orders. King Endrin looked on with no emotion being shown. “Make sure he gets some care for his wound; wouldn’t want him to die prematurely.” A grunt could be heard as the guards walked out of the room.

Milan walked back to his father and Gorim along with the small contingent of soldiers at their back; Lord Harrowmont stood a little away from the group of soldiers. Gorim gave him a clap on the back as he walked past. “Good job, my Lord! I never doubted your abilities for a second!”

Milan smirked and patted his best friend’s shoulder. “Well, you didn’t really have any reason to doubt my abilities, Gorim. I mean, I _did_ win the Provings yesterday.”

Gorim smiled broadly. “You sure did, my Lord!”

Milan smiled as well and chuckled a little at his friend’s happiness. He looked over at his father and his smile faded. A few steps took Milan out of the range of Gorim and towards King Endrin. Once he was within a few steps from him, Milan licked his lips and looked at his father, feeling the  same wave of grief wash over him that he had felt when he found Trian. “What will happen to Bhelen?” His voice was quieter than Endrin was ever used to; it was nothing more than a whisper able to be carried away by the wind, if there _was_ any wind in Orzammar.

King Endrin looked at his son thoughtfully. “For now, he will stay in the dungeons until he’s healed up and then I will have no other choice than to send him into the Deep Roads.” Endrin looked at his son’s fiery red eyes that had once belonged to his mother and let out a quiet breath. “Why didn’t you kill Bhelen?”

Milan had sensed that this would be brought up sooner or later. “If I had killed him, was I any better than Bhelen himself?” He answered his own question. “No. I couldn’t become the second kinslayer in the House. You, I and the Assembly wouldn’t approve of it. Along with half of Orzammar.”

King Endrin nodded.

Milan rubbed his mahogany trimmed beard and a question flashed through his mind. “So what will we do with the Grey Warden when he returns?”

“I don’t know, my son. He said he was looking for recruits, but I’m not sure who he’ll find here.” King Endrin saw the look in Milan’s eyes. “And before you ask; no. I’m not sending my only son and new heir off to become a Grey Warden. I know you want to, but your place is in Orzammar.”

Milan frowned. “You heard what the Grey Warden said; they’re in need of soldiers to fight the Blight that is coming. I could really make a difference, you know that. And if it truly is a Blight, then all of Ferelden isn’t safe, including us.”

King Endrin sighed and beckoned everyone to follow him. “We can discuss this when we get back to Orzammar if you’d like, but I’m not staying out here for any longer than I need to.”

Milan nodded before he bent over and picked up Trian’s body and held it in both arms, asking Gorim to carry his shield. With another short nod, Milan walked up to and then beside his father. “Where will we put Trian when all of this is over?”

“Alongside my father.” Endrin said solemnly.

Milan dipped his head respectively. “A fine place to bury a great man. May he rest well with the Stone.”

“May he rest well with the Stone.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you managed to find the Star Wars 7 reference, congratulations!


End file.
